


The Factory

by Lionessinthedark



Series: Sherlock's and John's challenges [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Episode Fix-It: s03e03 His Last Vow, Post His Last Vow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 18:35:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3702085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lionessinthedark/pseuds/Lionessinthedark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Sherlock and John are in a factory....somewhere in......?. Bound to two chairs. It’s night and they do not know what to expect.<br/>Oh my....what do you think of this? I’m very cruel to Sherlock and John...but there is a reason. If you like my writing, there could be more ahead.<br/>Of course I do not own the characters. They belong to Arthur Conan Doyle and BBC.<br/>I have borrowed the litany against fear from “Dune” (well actually it was against pain in “Dune”)</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter one

**Author's Note:**

> Sherlock and John are in a factory....somewhere in......?. Bound to two chairs. It’s night and they do not know what to expect.  
> Oh my....what do you think of this? I’m very cruel to Sherlock and John...but there is a reason. If you like my writing, there could be more ahead.  
> Of course I do not own the characters. They belong to Arthur Conan Doyle and BBC.  
> I have borrowed the litany against fear from “Dune” (well actually it was against pain in “Dune”)

It was dark and Sherlock could barely move his hands. The drugs were still floating in his system, making him dizzy. He couldn’t quite remember.....the meal.. yes...with Lestrade, Donnovan and John. To sort of celebrate that they have caught the serial killer. And because they were hungry, even him. A bit unusual that they would eat a meal together. He remembered leaving the restaurant together with John, searching for a cab. But after that....darkness.

He tried to find out his restrains, to calm down...observe. Upper body naked, cuffs (leather?) around his wrists and ankles. No shoes..no socks. Chains(?) holding him to a chair and a belt round his middle. He could move his hands a bit...about 20 centimeters before the chains tug his ankles. He felt another person’s presence, could hear a breath.

  
“John?”

  
No answer

  
Louder: “John?”

  
“Mmmm”

  
“John!”

  
“Mmmm...oh what the fuck?”

  
Sherlock had always admired the way John awoke, from sleepy to alert in only a few seconds. Not that he had been able to watch that in more than three years now, not since he jumped of that roof to save John’s life...

  
Sherlock: “Don’t bother to try to get loose.....I have tried the last 20 minutes...”

  
“You don’t have the skill’s I’ve got....” said John and Sherlock could hear the chains rattle.  
Sherlock waited...

  
John:“Oh what the hell....they are a lot stronger, than I expected”

  
“Wires in the cuffs!”

  
“Do you know where we are and the time?”

  
“Hm....I still think London, some industrial area near the Themes, and the tide is coming in, so about 2 o’clock in the middle of the night...and we are screwed...I’m sorry John....I didn’t have time to ping Mycroft....And the meal was improvised....so....”

It was still rather dark, Sherlock could see where the windows were....rather high up on the wall. And the echo showed that it was a big room...with tiles on the walls? He could see John as a slightly darker silhouette to his left.

  
John: “It could be the end?”

  
“I’m afraid so”

  
“Hm....They – whoever they are....could just leave us...It would give me just a little more than a week...and you about 3 days I’m afraid, Sherlock. I’m sorry”

  
“Why would you last longer?”

  
“I can go into a trance....something I learned many years ago....as I was on the military academy”

  
“Not normal training for soldiers! And what make you think that I can’t? I know martial arts as well – Bartitsu and Ashtanga yoga serves mental training too.....so trance is not only your possibility, John!”

  
John giggled: “So that’s how you did it!”

  
“Did what?”

  
“Jumped and survived......You jumped spread eagle, but on the pavement you were parallel to the road...”

  
“And?”

  
“So apparently you jumped...landed in a net or something....Quite a chance to take...the net hidden in the small lorry with laundry, I think.”

  
“Oh you noticed.”

  
“......then you rolled from the net on to the pavement...got yourself into a trance...remarkably fast. Did you stop your heart at will?”

  
“I can’t do that...or else I might have considered that in Serbia! Continue!”

  
“In Serbia?! We’ll take that later......who stopped your heart? You had no pulse...even if I was dizzy...I was still enough of a doctor to realize that! And don’t tell me that odd story about the smash -ball in your armpit......it would not trick a doctor!”

  
“The first of the young men who came running to me.....a very strong sedative that thankfully has a very potent antidote, too”

  
“And the blood? Fake?”

  
“Small glass capsules hidden in my hair. I held my eyes open during the trance, so they were dry as hell afterwards and I had bruises...and two pushed ribs..”

  
“Are you going to tell me why now?”

“To save your life.....we had found the assassins on Lestrade and on Mrs. Hudson, but we couldn’t locate your. Your grief had to be genuine, or else you would have been dead within the first month. And later you were still in mortal danger until I had entangled Moriarty’s organisation in Serbia. I got caught...escaped....got caught again...escaped....and got caught...and then they started torturing me...”....his voice faded...

The memories came back. Oh my god....the panic did close in on Sherlock now...not the right time, it never was......but the factory room and John faded away. He was back in Serbia. Hanging in his arms, trying to find support – desperately- or else his arms would dislocate......the voices....talking Serbian...he was just waiting to feel the next whiplash, the next beat from the pipe......a voice shouting....

  
“Sherlock!...SHERLOCK....SHERLOCK YOU ARE NOT IN SERBIA! Repeat after me: I.must.not.fear”

  
Sherlock tried...whispered “Imustnotfear”....he was two places at the same time...it has been a while since the last panic attack. He WAS getting better! It was two years ago now... dammed!

  
Johns voice: “I.will.face.my.fear” .....but John wasn’t in Serbia, was he?: Sherlock whispered..”Iwillfacemyfear”

  
John’s voice: “It.will.pas.over.me.and.through.me”

  
He only heard John’s voice now... and repeated: “It.will.pas.over.me.and.through.me”

  
John continued: “And.when.it.has.left”

  
Sherlock, slowly: “And....when....it.....has......left.”

  
John: “I.will.turn.my.inner.eye.to.see.its.path”

  
Sherlock, calm: “I.will.turn.my.inner.eye.to.see.its.path.”

  
John: “Where the fear has gone there will be nothing..... Only I will remain”

  
Sherlock: “Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain”.....with astonishment: “it works!” and Sherlock continued: “What was that?

John: “Something from my past, I translated it into English and it works just as fine...after a few adjustments. It’s an old Japanese saying – a mantra to control fear...it can be used on pain as well...”

  
Sherlock: “I could have used that in Serbia!”

  
John: “Want to talk about it? I can’t run away right now, can I?”

  
Sherlock: “Well, in the beginning it all worked fine. I managed to infiltrate the organization and destroyed it. Made them fight one another. The last..hm...hurdle...was difficult...my cover was blown and I had to flee. I managed to hide in the woods for a while and made sabotage in a rather big scale. I was caught..and escaped and as they caught me the last time....I was held imprisoned in about 4 weeks – it’s a bit of a blur: I don’t think they wanted to hear me confess anything...they just punished me. And I don’t think it would have changed anything if I had spoken. If they wanted information there are other more efficient methods: chemicals, drugs. But they just starved me, made me thirst, bound me and tortured me with electricity, whips, water pipes....beat me up, sleep deprivation, sound bombardment, isolation, stress positions, humiliation. Nothing particularly, quite ordinary actually. If it hadn’t been for the thought of you, I'd probably have given up during that time, would have given in to the strain of torture and mistreatment, of hunger and thirst and pain. You were there talking to me...in my mind palace...and it worked...but I would have liked to know that mantra!”

As Sherlock spoke John felt guiltier and guiltier...And even more because Sherlock talked so calmly about it. He knew that it was not just because of him, Sherlock had gone into that nightmare...but never the less. And then suddenly John remembered ...in the restaurant...and after....as he nearly couldn’t control his temper and he had beaten Sherlock, made him fall on his wounded back...

Sherlock: “Say something, John....do....do you despise me for being weak?”

John: “Despise you?! On the contrary! I’m so sorry for being such an asshole, Sherlock, and it makes me sick of self contempt the way I’ve treated you and that I’ve been so blind regarding you! I even made you fall on your back, when you returned.....did it make any damage?”

Sherlock: “Hm...actually...Some of my wounds did open again....there were blood on my shirt...and my ribs did hurt...”

John: “Oh...I’m so sorry. Did you get any help whatsoever? You helped me planning my wedding...solved a crime during your 1st man's speech...the best one ever heard! You tossed me out of that bonfire......Mary shot you...you forgave her because of me and Mycroft did send you on a suicidal mission....and the only thing I could see was my own bloody nose!!!!”

Sherlock: “I wasn’t going on a suicidal mission....Mycroft might have thought so. But my order to shoot Magnussen was given me from a person with higher rank than Mycroft. That IS possible....Oh what the hell...you might have found out....I’m working for MI6 sometimes.”

John:” I haven’t got your brain, Sherlock, but I’m not stupid...just incredibly blind!”


	2. Chapter 2

It was getting a bit lighter....they could now....dimly... see the room, they were in. A factory...white tiles on the walls. Grey tiles on the floor and a wooden floor some places too. Some partition walls here and there. Windows high up upon two walls. 2 doors. Tables, chairs, and a lot of things covered with tarps....They were sitting on two chairs.....against the wall with the two doors.

Sherlock: “I was on my way to Switzerland.....to a clinic...I’ve been there before to get help with my PTSD. I didn’t want to tell anyone. I felt so ashamed.”

John: “You are an idiot...there is nothing to be ashamed about. Not on your side anyway. On my side...it’s another story. I promise you that: there is nothing I wouldn’t do for you....just for you to know!”

Sherlock smiled: “I know. And I am getting better. The neural damages are nearly gone. The wounds and the ribs are healed....and the nightmares are infrequent...and so are the flash-backs."

When Sherlock mentioned his injuries and his mental problems in such a calm way, it made John even more determined to do anything possible for Sherlock...even if it right now wasn’t an option. But maybe later...maybe.

John suddenly remembers: “On my stag night, when we were in the detention.....you had a flash-back!”

Sherlock: “Yes, but I was so drunk, that it didn’t matter!” 

John: “I’m sorry Sherlock...this is not the right place and far, far too late, but for all it’s worth: I’m sorry for being the biggest idiot in the world.”

“John..”

“No... let me continue. I’ve been there.....the nightmares...the strange feeling in my body....the two realities at the same time....that you not can trust your senses. I’m a god dammed doctor....and I’m the most inconsiderate, uncompassionate, unemphatic idiot that have ever walked on two legs not noticing the signs right in front of my bloody eyes! My best and dearest friend falling apart in front of me and I didn’t notice! I’m so sorry and ashamed! Please forgive me for being that blind!”

Sherlock: “I forgive you....It might be my last chance!” he said with a faint smile.

John: “I wonder who captured us...and for what reason? Why put us here instead of killing us right away?”

Sherlock:”I don’t have enough information: but as crazy as it might sound...it could be Moriarty’s work. We didn’t hear anything from him, since his face appeared on the screens....these cuffs, chains......the whole situation...it smells of Moriarty."

John: “But you saw him shoot himself?”

Sherlock: “And when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?”

John (who didn’t have a brain like Sherlock, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t intelligent): “Identical twin brother?!”

Sherlock: “When I think back, that would explain the little discrepancies I observed, but that I explained away with his obviously insanity.....and death wish.”

John: “If it is him, he is going to kill us....after playing with us.”

Sherlock: “I think so......so we must just be smarter.”

John: “A bit difficult......to me it seems that he has got the best hand to play...we have nothing...chained to two chairs. And we don’t have our phones.”

Sherlock: “There must be a reason....a game....a play...As you said...He could just have killed us. He could be playing a cruel play. We’ll just have to improvise.”

They waited....they couldn’t do anything else and in the meantime:  
Sherlock: “That trance....that is not normal military training. Care to tell about it?”

John told about the things that not even Mycroft had found out: The strange and irregular way John actually had been educated. He was surprised that no Holmes brother had thought that his education was ...the best word would be “strange”.  
John: “I was 5 when my mother died...Harry 15....My father managed with the help from engaged housekeepers to make a sort of family-life. But Harry was difficult and I have – 5-6-7- years old - often gone to find her in the pub, by friends....drunk.....to get her home again. When I was 10 my father died and I went to a boarding school. Rather expensive but not in your league I believe. A solicitor took care of my money, as I was under age. He turned out to be a fraud. And nearly all my money had slipped away. And there I was 15 years old, not finished in school yet and had to make some quick thinking of what I could do with the little money I had left. To ask Harry was out of the question, she had her own trouble.....Get a work? Who would engage a 15 year old boy? I got a new solicitor. I hadn’t come of age yet of course, and he suggested a military academy in the southern England. I wasn’t quite old enough but I came in. My exams were rather good, even though you think I’m an idiot, Sherlock.”

“Only compared to me...not to others.”

“Well thank you...I suppose. Being educated there I would have to educations: a doctor and a military career”

“Yes...and that is what you had, wasn’t it: a captain and a surgeon, right?”

“Not right! If I had finished the regular way ...finished as a surgeon, I would have been ranked as Major, but doctors don’t have battle experience! They are behind the lines!! I have been active...have battle experience.”

“So what happened?”

“When I came to the academy I was the youngest...not even 16 yet. There was only one other boy of Japanese origin, who had the same age as I. We shared room together with 2 other boys. You know I have a bad temper sometimes. It was much worse then and we were harassed by the elder ones and I so admired the calmness in Katsu. I asked him how he could control his temper and how he could manage so well in our combat lessons. He told me and showed me: it was Aikido that was based on an even older samurai combat tradition. I was allowed to learn it after he had me introduced to his family, who was living in England. His father was a doctor – a GP with his own rather prosperous and big practice in London and he had anticipated Katsu to take over, but Katsu was more interested in his military career and didn’t want to be a GP. His older brother had stayed in Japan. The family took me under their wings....I was there every holiday. And I and Katsu exercised every spare moment, even sometimes in the night. Occasionally Katsu’s bigger brother would show up to teach us. I got so far as to the black belt. That training....the exercises......the meditation...helped me to focus and control my temper and it turned out to be a good advantage in the normal school topics as well. That is why I got a scholarship, which in the age of 27 would have made me a trauma surgeon and a major as well. Studying at the academy and at Bart’s in London.”

“That is what you did, isn’t it?”

"No....I lost the scholarship. Not actually my fault, nothing I had done wrong. But something about a technicality when I got it. And there I was 22 years old – a lieutenant and one quarter on my way to be military doctor...having nearly no money and even if the education is for free, you’ll have to buy books, clothes and so on. James Sholto tried to help me...but in vain. Then Katsu’s father made me an offer: leave the academy, become a GP-doctor (I could have merit for parts of my former education, so I would only be delayed by a year or so) and become a partner in his clinic. How could I say no? Katsu continued at the academy and we sometimes met at Bart’s. I hated leaving the military. I loved the.....the structure of it all, that everything had its place. I studied hard and only lacked half a year of being finished as a GP (and believe me...it was so boring.....adrenaline doesn’t get high on sore tonsils and rashes) and then....catastrophe.....Katsu’s father died and it turned out that his partner had managed to turn things in such a way that Katsu’s family didn’t get much and I absolutely nothing. I contacted James Sholto again and told about the misery and I was offered to finish my military education, becoming a captain (not a major....they don’t need GP’s in the army) and I returned, now with a rather useless education as a GP, so I decided to perform a “trauma-paramedic”. It only took half a year...and there I was 27 years old: a captain and a trauma-paramedic and of we vent to Afghanistan.”

“Impressive...”

“And in Afghanistan I got caught.”

“I know...you ended up in a prison-camp near the Pakistani-border and worked as a doctor...as a surgeon.”

“No Sherlock...it was a lie...well not totally. But it was a rooster-camp....so illegal.”

“Yes..it says so in your file...not the illegality though...Go on”

“When you are caught the only thing you are obliged to say is your name, your rank and your company. Just what it says on your dog tag. But someone had seen me attending to the wounded as we were caught and they wanted doctors to work for them in the prison camps......not as doctors.....but as”interrogators” and I would rather die, than doing that!”

“I see...and admire you for that, John...you could have had a rather “pleasant” stay if you had given in”

“Under no circumstances! First they used electricity...you know.....genitals...but I “fainted” all the time.”

“Trance?”

“Yep.....and then the 2nd day they whipped me on my buttocks, a whip that cut right through the skin and into the muscle tissue and I “fainted” again. This time I was brought to a doctor - Dr. Jamaal Azeem - a Pakistani doctor. He was sort of imprisoned too. As I was brought in lying on my stomach, he said: “Little white boy....I can recognize an...Aikido?...trance when I see one” And he forced me out of it. Normally there is a “wake-up”-word you choose yourself, but if you are a skilled master of high rank, you know words, that’ll force people out of the trance. I just cursed and mumbled: “I’m white all right..but I’m not a boy..and now you are sending me back so they can continue...right?”

“No way....a man who can get in to a trance while being flogged...that’s is a man I can use” he said.

“Forget it...I’ll rather get killed before I’ll use my skills here!” was my answer.

Then he stitched me up and told me his plans – I would become a “rooster”....a fighter...he would train me in the Behatar martial art (an Afghani-Pakistani sort).

“I know about it...how far did you reach?”

“Grade 10”

“In just half a year!? That is almost 2 grades in a month! How did you manage? Oh my......John. Everything above 8 is considered as deadly as an armed weapon. I’ll remember that if I’ll ever provoke you again! You could easily have killed me as I returned or the other times I have provoked you!”

“But I didn’t. I wasn’t beginning from scratch you know. I did the training at night...worked as a doctor at daylight....and from time to time I fought in the arena. I was wearing a mask, so they couldn’t see my blond hair or blue eyes and I was just as brown as they were. Dr. Jamaal took care of that. My presence in the camp was even officially acknowledged, so it counted as practice as a surgeon in a English-speaking-country.”

“That was what your papers said”

“Jamaal earned loads of money on me...said that he had stashed some of it for me too. I killed men in that arena, Sherlock....10 of them at least.”

They sat in silence for a while, and then Sherlock continued: “The camp was bombed, right? And you were the only survivor as you had been out in the jungle to collect herbs?”

“Yeah...my guard was so used to my not trying to escape...and where should I have gone.....in the middle of the jungle? He would often let me go on my own. When the troops came I was a born liar...and thank god we have had hens and roosters in the camp for food as well, so the real roosters became the fighting roosters and I had only been a doctor. I was sent back to England and returned to Afghanistan one year later.”

“Impressive....and mostly because you have fooled Mycroft...and me. Does anyone else know?”

“Mary......when you were re-operated on, because of the wound, you received when Mary shot you, I told her about my skills and that I would have to leave her, if you had died. I could forgive her, Sherlock, as long as you were alive, but had you died, I wouldn’t be able to do that any longer and having the skills I have, she wouldn’t be safe around me any more.”

Sherlock: “What did she respond to that?”

“She understood but in the beginning she didn’t believe me; that I was that skilled. I have never shown any one, but then I demonstrated my abilities on a few not so wanted gifts from our wedding, kicking them to pieces as they were placed on top of shelf in 2 m’s height and she believed me, especially after she had thrown a knife at me....at my request of course.”


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock began to giggle...  
John: “What?!”

“Oh my...if this had only been a dream or a movie...I wouldn’t be so desperate now!”

“Why?”

“People never pee in movies and I’m going to do that soon...it’s embarrassing!”

John began to giggle too.

“Oh my..here we are...apparently facing death and the only thing we can think about is our bladders!”

As if it had been a cue there were some scrambling at the door.....and in vent: Moriarty.

Sherlock turned his head to John and said: “As I said...boring!!!”

John had the pleasure of the expression in Jim Moriarty’s face: disappointment

Sherlock: “If it is not to humiliate us totally I would so much like to go to the loo!”  
(Just as if the menace of death didn’t mean a thing)

There were two men together with Jim and they were ordered to loosen the belts around Sherlock’s and John’s middles.  
Sherlock rose on to his feet: “Thank you and could you please tell me the way to the nearest loo?” John did the same and with so much dignity they could show, they walked towards the toilets...

Jim: “And don’t you try anything...”.

Sherlock turned around with the utmost expression of boredom: “Or else...something with little red dots and shooting and killing and.....oh for God’s sake, Jim....think of something new!”

They returned a few minutes later....and Jim looked so disappointed. His entrance had not been as he had expected....it seemed just as if Sherlock had known...  
Jim pulled himself together as Sherlock and John was forced to sit at a table on stools, their cuffed and chained wrists now chained to eyelets on the table facing each other.

Sherlock looked up: “Why this?”  
(Oh bugger he didn’t even ask why Jim was still alive!)

Jim:” I don’t trust you.....you both know too much martial arts.....and I....I’m just a weak existence.”

Sherlock: “O please...spare me the melodrama!!”

Jim couldn’t stand it anymore: “You do not wonder why I’m still here?!”

Sherlock looked at John and with the utmost tone of boredom in his voice: “Are you going to tell him, John?”

John lifted his head and looked Jim right in the face: “It is obvious.....identical twin brother.”

Sherlock: “and he had a brain tumour...hence the morphine chewing gum.”

Jim: “Oh...you noticed....well when was it me and when was it my brother?”

Sherlock raised his eyebrows: “Oh it is so obvious....but I thought at that time that it was because of the tumor: At the roof at Bart’s: your brother......by the pool: you.....and by the way it wasn’t you at all who talked to the bomb victims....The blind lady’s description of the voice didn’t fit with the talking pattern of your voice. Richard Brook was you and by the way: you have lived a long time as Richard Brook, possibly more than 15 years in the daytime and in the night you and your brother were “the consulting criminal”. Under The Tower...your brother, and of course in the courtroom too. The visitor at my flat was you...now using your left hand... Both of you are (were) Ambidextrous. You with a slight preference of the right where as your brother would prefer the left. I must admit that it puzzles me a bit that you were never two boys back at school when you or your brother killed Carl Powers.....but one of you must have been at another school....and the only explanation for that is that one of you lived with your mother and the other with your father, who by the way was the cab-driver who tried to kill me. I noticed the torn picture on his dashboard! Actually nothing difficult! Twins: Jim James Moriarty and James James Moriarty.....And you are Jim.

Jim with just a little bit of admiration: “Oh you got it totally right...amazing.....even our parents couldn’t tell us apart sometimes..... It would really be a shame to kill you this time!”

Sherlock: “I don’t think you want to kill us...you would be too bored afterwards.....Why all this stage-up if you just wanted us dead?”

John whispering: “Careful....we are on thin ice.”

Jim: “Oh...Sherlock.... by the way. You actually owe me a death...you didn’t die as you jumped....and my brother did die!”

Jim showed a pistol: “Which of you should I choose and which would I let walk out of that door...alive?”

Sherlock and John looked at each other....No they didn’t believe one second, that Jim would let anyone go free...John nodded...a tiny little nod.

Sherlock: “You should of course shoot me....I’m the one who owe you a death....Let John go!”

John:” If Sherlock owes you a death, it could just as well be mine. Shoot me and let Sherlock leave.”

Jim jumped to John and put the pistol against Johns head: “Such a good idea......any last words?”  
(John closed his eyes....he really hoped that Sherlock had valued Jim’s intentions right...that he would play with them and not necessary kill them)

“No!”

*click*

John looked at Jim: “You are a very cruel man!”

Jim: “Oh I’m flattered.....but not surprised”....He turned to Sherlock: “You have trained your pet well......he would do anything for you, but then again...you would do anything for him. Does he know about Serbia?” And he caressed Sherlock’s scarred back with the pistol.

John: “I know....”

Jim:” My father used to play a game with us...in the summer holidays when we were together. Often we didn’t behave...and he would play the game: “Who would take the blame” since he couldn’t find out if it was Jim or James who had stolen his cigarettes, driven his car into the garden fence or put weed killer in his fertilizer. He would write down an amount of “strokes”......either James or I should make a guess and the other one should take the difference on his back.”

Jim turned around, took of his jacket and his tie and shirt and showed Sherlock and John his back. There were scars... He got himself dressed again but leaving the jacket and the tie.

John whispered: “No wonder he is so insane....”

Jim: “So....I’ve always wondered about your friendship. You are not lovers.....so why do you care so much about each other? It puzzles me.......How far would you go for each other? Here...a note.....an amount of lashes I’m going to give Sherlock...but (he raised his hand) you John can reduce the amount. The full amount would kill Sherlock but how many would you take for him, John? How many are you able to take? Every one you take will reduce Sherlock’s with a factor of ten...So the big question is: what is the number on this note?”

Sherlock: “And do you speak the truth!?”

Jim: Oh...I’ll do...I’m not interested in killing you...not right now. No I’m just curious...I do not understand your friendship. Finally something I can’t figure out...that is exciting!  
   
Jim turned around and vent back to the table near the door He was fetching a rather large box., similar to a guitar case. Only John could see some of its content: whispering: “Oh my god, Sherlock...it’s a collection of whips.....he is actually going to flog us!”

Sherlock :(whisper back) “If he is, we can survive.....it’s just pain. I’ve tried it and so have you! We know our limits....”.

John: (whisper): “There is no way I’m going to let him do more damage to your back!”

Sherlock: (whisper) “I know what I can take, it’ll kill you John if you should take it all. I won’t let you! We can always “faint”......that’ll stop him for a while. My only fear is that I’ll get flash-backs. We’ll have to “play” him...he is on the edge.

John: “Yes...I’ve noticed. Brain tumour too?”

Sherlock: “You’re the doctor!”

Jim returned: “So....what is the chosen number, Mr Watson?”

John closed his eyes: “15” (he could manage that and maybe even more.... But what had the madman written on that note?!...200...300...500?)  
John really hoped that Sherlock could read Jim.

Jim: “Okay....release Mr. Holmes”

“What?!”

Jim: “Oh...I’m not going to flog you Dr. Watson. Sherlock Holmes is....and I’ll leave you two to talk it over.”

John and Sherlock whispered...  
Sherlock: “No way am I going to do that to you, John...not even to save my own skin!”

John: “Have you any idea how much he’s written down?”

Sherlock: “No...I can’t read that on him...not right now...”

John: “Then you’ll have to flog me....and try to read him. I’m not going to let you die of more than 200 whiplashes!! I can count out loud.....scream as if it is worse.....look at my hands. I’ll tell you when it turns unbearable: my knuckles would turn white. Are you good at it?”

“Flogging?”

“Yes...have you practiced? You have done so mange strange things in the morgue.”

“Yes...I can do it precisely.”

“That’s it then.”

“I haven’t agreed to hurt you John!”

“No...but if you want to survive, it is what it’s going to be like....it is just skin. You have survived worse in Serbia! It’s my turn now to take the lion’s share of this shit!”

Sherlock closed his eyes: “OK...I’ll try to read him.”

Jim vent back to the table, where John was chained: “....And if Sherlock chooses to do it in an unsatisfying way...”

Sherlock: “Yeah, yeah...something about little red dots and presumably gunshot wounds in kneecaps or something like that...think of something new, Jim!”

Sherlock’s feet remained chained. He was given a whip.....and the little red dots were now seen on John’s legs. Sherlock noticed were the sniper was standing.  
He closed his eyes and then opened them again. He had to read Jim and John. He tried to focus....to forget that it was Johns back and let the first blow fall on Johns back.  
“One” John counted:  
“Two”  
“Three”  
“Four”  
“Five”  
“Six”  
John’s hands were fists but his knuckles were not white, even though he was screaming....so he could take more.

Sherlock methodically let the whip mark it’s way on John’s back.....side by side so the damage was minimized.  
“Seven”  
“Eight”  
“Nine”  
“Ten”  
He was only halfway down on John’s back. There could be room for more. He continued. John was screaming now.....but still his hands weren’t totally clenched...not yet.  
“Eleven”  
“Twelve”  
“Thirteen”  
Sherlock looked at Jim through his hair. Trying to read him...no...he had to continue. When he gave John blow no. 15 Johns knuckles were still not white even if John was screaming and panting. John’s back had welts and bloody places where the lashes had crossed.

Sherlock stopped, he thought he’d figured out the number by now...”221”of course. Time to shift and make Jim confused. Sherlock whispered to John: “Faint!”...and John went slack. One of the men went to examine John and pressed the two joints of John’s little finger together...and John didn’t move.

“He is out all right” said the man.

Sherlock broke the whip: “No way am I going to harm him anymore...even if I’m going to die!!”

He sat down in front of John again....and Sherlock’s wrists were attached to the table again. John was not unconscious any more. He must have made that trance limited to a few minutes.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock couldn’t see Jim but he could hear him.....Sherlock focused on John’s eyes. John blinked and made a small circle with his fingers and held 5 fingers up twice. Sherlock should take the next 10. Sherlock nodded....he could do that.

He could feel that Jim was standing behind him; breathing hard.....oh my God...did Jim enjoy it that much?

Jim: “John counted so nicely..”

Sherlock: Do you want me to count?”

Jim: “Yes please!”

(please!?)

First blow hit. It was all right...didn’t feel like Serbia, but Sherlock could feel that this whip apparently made more tissue damage than the one used on John: “one”....He looked at John...mimed “worse”? John gave a little nod and showed his hand: circle and five.

“Two” ......no way...he could take more than five!  
“Three”. Sherlock showed John “eleven” by shaking his thumb ever so slightly   
“Four”  
“Five”  
“Six”  
“Seven”   
“Eight”  
“Nine”  
“Ten”  
Something was wrong....there was not just the pain, but a tingle...a taste in Sherlock’s mouth. He frowned...got John’s attention and mimed: “toxin”  
“Eleven”.....

“Stop”...John shouted....”Give him a break, I’ll take the rest!”...Sherlock’s hand showed three, had he figured out which number?   
Jim went behind John: “Count!”

“One”....”two”.....”three”. This whip did really bite...it was different.

“Stop”. Sherlock shouted: ”I’ll take the rest”...but his voice was slurred.

Jim continued on Sherlock’s back and Sherlock counted: ....”one”.... “two” ....”three”....”four”...”five”.....”six”....”seven”

Again John shouted “Stop”.....and now Jim was confused: “I’ll stop here...you are apparently ready to take the blows for each other...it’s getting boring!”

John looked at Sherlock.....Sherlock’s eyes were dizzy, he fought to keep his eyes open.

John looked at Jim: “You can never play your card’s straight, can you? What was on that whip?” Sherlock apparently was unconscious.....the toxin or trance?

John continued: “I suppose there is an antidote and a price for that?”

Jim didn’t answer but vent back to his case and took something out: “Are you a religious man, John Watson?”

“What?”

And Jim laid two 15 cm long and about half a centimeter broad nails on the table. “Do you know what it means?”

John looked at Jim in a sudden understanding and in terror: “You don’t mean you are going to crucify Sherlock?!”

Jim: “No..no...he’s got too much toxin in him....no... you John Watson. Would you do this to safe Sherlock’s life?”

John: “You are crazy! Utterly insane! But of course I will. I’ll do almost anything....But antidote first!”

Sherlock woke up as he got the antidote but looked in horror as he saw what they were about to do to John...John was forced with his back towards on one of the wooden partition walls in the middle of the factory room, standing on his legs and his arms forced up and out....This was getting insane...They were crucifying John!!!!!!He would die!!!

Sherlock tried to yell, shout, protest, but all he managed was a moan and only a vague movement with his hands, still in the leather cuffs attached to the table. Sherlock could only watch in horror now coming more and more to his senses as the two men first hammered one nail through the palm of John’s left hand. John was screaming! It almost made Sherlock vomit....and then John’s right hand. In Sherlock mind was just turmoil and fear: John was moaning, his head hanging...but wait.....”Observe Sherlock, observe!” Sherlock said to himself rushing through his Mind Palace searching for information about crucifixion: John is not hanging in his arms...he is standing on his legs. No risk of imminent death because of suffocation, John's chest could move. John’s whole body weight wasn’t on his arms alone. The nails were not through his wrists...it wasn’t a real crucifixion. A lot of pain.....yes...especially if those nails had broken a bone or hit a nerve...but no risk of imminent death! As long as John could stay conscious and not just hang in his arms, he could stay alive. 

Sherlock could now focus on one of the men. He looked shocked (?).....why? Wasn’t he one of Moriarty’s men? And used to insane violence? No? Oh...he’s got a cross hanging from a chain around his neck...religious? Is this last event from Moriarty just too much....too much blasphemy? Could they get some help from him? Just the last straw of help?

Sherlock caught the man’s eyes and mimed “Help”. Actually both Sherlock and John had no other possibility to survive. Sherlock hated it....but he was helpless...just as helpless as he had been in Serbia....maybe even more now John’s life was at stake too. And no way could Mycroft now where they were and help them in time. Jim was still a raving lunatic....one false move and John and he would be dead. 

Sherlock looked at John again and John’s head was up. Sherlock caught John’s eyes. He was in pain., Sherlock could see that........what?! John winked ever so slightly with his eye. It wasn’t that bad?! Should they “play” Jim?

Sherlock: “Please, Jim....you have proven your point....please. Remove the nails and lay John on the floor. Please. I’ll do anything, anything. Kill me if you want...but please. Stop hurting John!” 

(Would it work?....Sherlock did not have enough information. He couldn’t be certain...but he thought, maybe....)

John’s voice: “I haven’t bloody done this for you to offer you life, you idiot, Sherlock. Just you shut the fucking up....I saw you jump......heard about Serbia...and now you just can’t watch me like this? Damn you!”

Jim ran to the table and grabbed Sherlock’s head by the hair, yanking his face up, yelling in to Sherlock’s face: “You are so pathetic. I thought you were strong, but you are weak...weak....And we could have had so much fun together. But you are an “angel”.....I don’t understand why you care so much about a broken soldier, who is so inferior. He is not worth it!!! Leaving you for that woman.....hurting you beyond any reason when you came back tortured from Serbia. You were supposed to let him take all the flogging. You are so much more than him....and yet you let yourself destroy.......getting flogged and drugged.....for him.....I’m so much more than him. How much would you have done for me?!”

Sherlock looked at him: “Are we now talking about more flogging? Mine or your back?!”

Jim was looking as if he was going to snap any moment: “Out you two......out...! He yelled at the two men and they went out.

Sherlock looked at John. He had apparently got himself into a trance, but was standing on his feet, not hanging in his arms.

Jim had gone to the case and fetched another whip and took off his shirt. He was now grinning......Oh my god....if he snapped, what would he do? Sherlock really hoped that the two men or at least one of them would react in their favour. Finding a way to send a message (?) to someone, that he and John were in that factory. Sherlock couldn’t even think straight anymore...being drugged and then poisoned.

He yelled as the whip hit his sore back. Jim yelled: “How many are you going to take for me!?! Answer!”

Sherlock turned his head....looked at Jim: “Why should I take any for you? Have you saved my life several times? (Careful, Sherlock he said to himself...you are tiptoeing through a mine field...think! Read him!)

Jim: “I have saved your life too! The explosion in Baker Street only destroyed your windows. I didn’t shoot you at the pool. I didn’t push you on the roof top at Bart's before you jumped and I could just have left you here to DIE!”

Sherlock: “Then why didn’t you? Because especially now after your brother is gone, you have no one who can match you. Except maybe from my brother...and he doesn’t want to “play” with you. If I die you don’t have a playmate...and I promise you, I’ll disappear out of this country and will never “play” with you again if John doesn’t survive. If he dies you have nothing you can use to put a pressure on me (thinking to himself: should I mention that Mary would kill him? No he hasn’t mentioned her. Jim apparently doesn’t know about her past). He is my friend....and you are nothing to me. Yes it was exciting to be challenged.....your puzzles....but too many people died. I would rather die than “play” with you again. And I’m not afraid of death. It could be such a relief. Think Jim, not having to worry anymore. No more boredom. Your brother had the guts to choose that......that relief. He was brave....What are you? It’s you who are pathetic...you don’t even have a friend, like I do....you are so alone...no one would like to play with you!"(“would it work?” he thought)

Jim was.....shocked? Calculating?...With the poison in his system Sherlock couldn’t think straight anymore.

“Yes...you are right, Sherlock...I’m alone" said Jim calmly...and then he shouted: “BUT ALONE PROTECTS ME!!!” 

He hit Sherlock two more times on Sherlock's back, grabbed his shirt, tie and jacket and went away: “I’ll just leave you here to die...TOGETHER!” And he went out of the door....would he return again like at the pool? Change his mind? 

Sherlock looked at John......was he in a trance?

John looked up, moaning “You’ll have to help me here, Sherlock. I’ve stiffened my legs.....but the pain...you’ll have to help me counting down”

Wakening words? And they agreed on the words....certain that only someone close to them could figure it out.

Sherlock helped, “counted” John down...and got himself into a trance too...if only Jim didn’t return and if only one of the men had found a way to tell the Police where they were...It was their only chance....If...if...if...and the trance took Sherlock.


	5. Epilougue

Jim did return.....speaking in his telephone: “No sir, I’m not sure they are still alive. If they are, they are dying by now...there pulse is very weak. The toxin is working together with the blood loss. Should I shoot them or just leave them? Oh..yes sir. I’ll do so. And the recording?..Yes sir” and he turned away from the two dying men and went out the door.

The man with the cross had given his phone to a young boy who was watching the factory building as the man pretended to scare the boy away, whispering: “Code is 1234 read the SMS, contact the police and the phone is yours.”   
The boy contacted the police and kept the phone and the police contacted Mycroft....everyone had been looking for Sherlock and John since the night before but not even the CCTV cameras had shown anything useful. Would they get there in time?


End file.
